Prologue #2
I wanted to laugh, but nothing was funny. “I can’t believe this shit. I just spent a good chunk of my savings on him, and instead of being appreciative or, hell, even thankful, he’s mad that I didn’t set up the threesome. He had to do it himself,” I whisper-yelled into the phone.
She chuckled. “I don’t mean to laugh, boo.”
She meant to laugh.
“Girl, he don’t give a fuck about your party or the money you spent. What he cares about is his viewing pleasure. Look, do you want to eat this girl’s coochie or not?”
“Hell no!”
“Then I suggest that you stop hiding wherever you’re hiding. And based on the acoustics, it sounds like the bathroom. Get out of the bathroom, chuck the deuces to the situationship, and go home.”
“I was trying to chuck the deuces to the situationship when I got dragged into throwing him a party that he clearly didn’t want. Shit!”
“Well, the perfect opportunity for you to get the hell outta dodge has presented itself. You two weren’t on the same page from the jump.
You were looking for fun and YN dick. He was looking for somebody to tag-team with him on eating ass.
Neither one of y’all are each other’s forever.
It’s done.” She sighed. “Stop hiding in the bathroom like some eighteen-year-old trick, boo. Get your thirty-two-year-old, fully grown ass out of the bathroom and walk outta that hotel suite with your head held high.”
“I just can’t believe—”
“Aht! Aht! All that talkin’, do it while you’re walkin’.
Get whatever overnight bag you brought there and go home, Wyndi.
Messing around with these YNs is a young ho’s game.
You’re an old ho. You came up in a time when all they wanted to do was nut in your face.
Now they want you to eat coochie while they watch. ”
I had to laugh.
“Listen,” Lo continued. “I support whatever people feel comfortable doing sexually. Goodness knows I have juggled my fair share of balls in the mouth. But every dick I ever sucked, I wanted to suck. I ain’t never been strong-armed or guilted into sucking a dick.
And I damn sure ain’t never sucked one to make a man’s birthday fantasy come true.
Fuck him and his birthday. May the random bitch give him gonorrhea. ”
“Let me go. I need to gather up my stuff and head home.”
“Call or text me when you get there.”
I walked back into the main living space of the suite, rolling my overnight bag. My eyes landed on Pres. His were closed, and his mouth hung open a little from the pleasure of having Arielle on her knees in front of him, his dick stuffed into her mouth.
Maybe the little gasp I made caused his eyes to fly open. I wasn’t sure.
“Why’re you still dressed?” he questioned.
“Bro, you got that. Take care. Have a good life.”
The ever-present frown was back on his face. “I’m not even surprised. It’s cool. See you never.”
“Fuck you!”
He probably didn’t even hear me, since Arielle had resumed her assault on his dick.
The Saturday after the birthday party, I was back on my grind. I had to be. I needed to make up the money I blew.
I hadn’t heard from Preston, but I didn’t expect to. We agreed in the beginning that when we stopped having fun together, we would go our separate ways. We definitely stopped having fun.
It was early, not even 8:00 a.m. yet. The city was already moving, but I felt sluggish.
I didn’t sleep well the night before, thinking about the low balance in my savings account.
I was going to have to let that go. Growing up, my mother had a saying: “Money is like the seasons, it comes and it goes.” I couldn’t help thinking that it went extremely fast when you did dumb shit with it.
I was working on breaking the habit of beating myself up about mistakes. The negative self-talk took me down long before the words of anybody else ever did. I was working on that, though. I was working on giving myself more grace and the space to be more human.
I sighed aloud. “You made a mistake, Wyndi. It’s not the end of the world. The money is spent. The bank account is low. It’s time to start bouncing back,” I mumbled to myself.
LoLo had already texted me letting me know that she was in the parking lot. I found her truck and pulled in next to her.
“Good morning,” she called with a smile as we met at my trunk.
I gave her a quick hug. “Good morning. Thanks for coming to help me.”
The first Saturday after the end of the football preseason was the day that the Chicago Coyotes did their annual big “Sponsorship and Vendor Expo.” Every corporate sponsor and team vendor was invited to set up a booth or table at Coyotes headquarters (Hickory Hall).
Players and their families could come out to get information about products or services, receive samples, set up appointments, and make purchases.
It was a huge day for vendors, because a lot of orders could be placed. And I needed orders.
“Girl, you know I love these expos—looking at all these athletes and team higher-ups. One day I’mma leave one of these events with my husband’s phone number.”
I laughed as we unloaded my trunk and prepared for what I hoped was a day filled with selling.
We walked into Hickory Hall, dragging my belongings behind us.
“Ooh, you have a good location,” LoLo told me when she spotted my company’s name, The Luxe Shimmer Collective, on the booth right between Sunset Investments and Top Flight Limited Personal Chef Services.
“You know every player on the team is stopping by at least one of these booths. We’ll entice them to order a custom jersey or jacket from you. ”
I was an artisan. I loved art. Drawing, painting, sculpting, ceramics—I liked them all. I loved textiles the most, though. And I especially loved embellishment.
I went to college and graduated with a whole Bachelor of Fine Arts.
I floated around for about a year after college, unable to figure out how to best put my degree to use.
After a while, when I couldn’t continue to deny the fact that I needed real money, I got a job teaching art in an elementary school.
I did that for almost three years. Then I saw a lady on YouTube bedazzling some gym shoes.
I kept watching her. She bedazzled all types of stuff.
The thought that I could do that popped into my mind.
My business was born in that very moment.
The first thing I ever blinged out was a pair of baby Jordans for the infant daughter of Chicago Bison basketball player, Chance Parker.
I liked his wife, Kirbie Miller-Parker. I didn’t know her personally, but they were often on social media or in the blogs.
She was pretty, as tall as a model, and she had a tomboy style of dress.
She wasn’t the typical wife or girlfriend.
She seemed more . . . human. So, I randomly sent the shoes to the Bison’s front office with my information.
About four months later, Kirbie reached out to me.
That was five years ago. Now I had contracts and was a licensed vendor for not just the Bison, but several sports teams in the city.
Outside of my contracts as a vendor, I also did custom work and private commissions.
Any avenue that looked like it was cutting checks, I was on it.
It didn’t take long for LoLo and I to finish the setup.
If I do say so myself, my booth looked good.
I showcased a blinged-out Coyotes jersey, a denim jacket, and a pair of J’s in midnight blue and tangerine orange—the recognizable colors of the Coyotes franchise.
I had also blinged out some baby onesies, diaper bags, and baby bibs.
There were blinged-out tote bags, T-shirts, and even footballs bearing the emblematic logo.
I was ready to make some connections and some sales.